


Something Ugly This Way Comes

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fear, Introspection, Post-Episode: s07e13 Nightmare in Silver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: In the wake of meeting Mr Clever, Clara starts to wonder the true nature of the madman with a box who she followed into the unknown.





	Something Ugly This Way Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Thematically a bit dark. You have been warned.

_“Clara, I suppose I’m the only one who knows how I feel about you right now. How funny you are. So funny. And pretty. And the truth is, I’m starting to like you in a way that is more than just… Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Yes! It’s me. That really hurt! How did you know that was him?”_

_“Because even if that was true, which it is obviously not, I know you well enough to know that you would rather die than say it.”_

Clara lay in bed that night, pondering the Doctor’s words.

Mr Clever was him, that was what he’d explained to her. Every dark or dangerous or loathsome part of his nature; all the fury and rage and coldness that stemmed from millennia spent gatekeeping the universe; all of it compressed down into a part of his brain that he did his best to ignore. A part of his brain that was rife with anger and bitterness and cruel, calculated cunning; permeated with a sense of wiliness that may once have served the Doctor well, but now only served to frighten her. It was a jarring reminder that the man she so willingly followed into the unknown was not the bouncing, happy, child-like figure she knew him as; he had suffered loss and pain and war and death, and it had shaped his nature in ways she couldn’t begin to comprehend. That part of him that Mr Clever had tapped into, that dark part of him; that part of him was always there, omnipresent, lurking just below the surface, and she felt – not for the first time – frightened of the man she had run away with.

He was back to his usual self now, hadn’t he assured her of that? He had claimed that he was unafflicted now; that the Cyber Controller had been forced out of his head. But there was still that lingering, nagging sense of fear that the part of him that had been tapped into could resurface. That it could force its way to the forefront of his consciousness again, because now it had been let out of its box, and it had tasted freedom; it had seen what it was to make the Doctor dance to its tune, and how much fear and pain it could evoke – in her, in others, and in enemies. 

What might the Doctor do to her, if Mr Clever came back? What unspeakable things might he consider appropriate for his companion? She wasn’t naïve; she knew how base the instincts of men could become when faced with the darkness and suffering the Doctor had, and when provided with the proximal availability of a defenceless woman. The memory of the Doctor’s hand gripping her arm made her heart lurch uncomfortably, and the thought of him holding onto both her arms like that, of him hurting her, made her feel physically sick. She looked down at her forearm and the long, blossoming bruises that were forming where his fingers had tightened against her skin. She imagined them spreading over her skin like a rash, purple and green and yellow, and she wondered, with another flush of nausea, whether he might kill her. She would never withstand a protracted assault. She would never survive, if he set his mind to destroying her.

Her Doctor would never do that, surely? He cared about her; he respected her; he even considered her – she thought the words tentatively – a friend. He was in control again. But for how long? How long was it before the darker side of him took back the reins; how long before the inherent darkness in his nature polluted his good heart and reasoned logic again, and he lost all semblance of self-control? She had seen what happened to one planet when that happened; watched as it imploded and vanished into nothingness. What if he lost control of himself on Earth? What if he lost control here, in the TARDIS?

The thought of that was terrifying. Floating in the vortex in a box with a madman; she was entirely vulnerable to his will. If he never wanted to take her home, even in his benevolent form, she could hardly force him. What power did she have over a Lord of Time – she, a human woman who barely came up to his chin? His hand on her arm had reminded her that for all his compassion and warmth, he was far stronger than she was; far more powerful, in more ways than one. If he lost control again then she would be easy prey here; he knew the TARDIS almost as well as he knew himself, and she would be entirely vulnerable as he sought her out. She imagined how it would feel to be hunted out by a Time Lord; to be stalked along the corridors of his ship, and as panic rose in her chest, there was a strange feeling in her mind’s eye – an intrusion, yes, but oddly gentle. 

_You will be safe. I will keep you safe from him._

Perhaps once it would have startled her, but the TARDIS’s presence and quiet assurance was instead a source of relief, and she took a deep shuddering breath, reaching over and brushing a grateful palm over the wall of the ship.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

She leant back against the headboard, closing her eyes. The Doctor’s words had unsettled her almost as much as the presence of Mr Clever.

If Mr Clever was the dark part of him, were the words he had spoken true? Did he really think her beautiful? Did he really feel for her in a way that was… well, more than this? She scarcely dared to hope, her heart thundering at the mere prospect, but she knew that there was every chance that Mr Clever had been playing on her sentiments; lying for the sake of watching her suffer. 

She’d thought herself pretty, once, but now, she wondered. Would a Time Lord consider her beautiful? How could he, when his experience of the universe was so much greater and grander than hers? He must have experienced a thousand species on a thousand planets; he had seen stars born and planets form. How could he find a human such as herself beautiful? She was nothing to him – mere atoms; a passing flight of fancy. She paled in comparison to the universe; a mere child of barely thirty years of age. An infant of the cosmos. 

The thought of the Doctor considering her as anything more than his companion was laughable, she told herself, trying to temper her fleeting optimism with pragmatism. It hurt, of course. Each day, she yearned for him to look at her and really _see_ her, but of course, he never would. There were hundreds of things to look at, all of which were more important: the TARDIS controls, the stars, the worlds they visited. She faded into insignificance when placed alongside them, and it was little wonder that he held no interest in her face or her words. She was a plaything; a toy; something with which he could pass the time. A Time Lord did not fall in love with mere humans; the very notion made her feel a hot rush of embarrassment, as though even entertaining the notion of anything more was somehow shameful.

“Stupid,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” 

It could never be. It would never be.


End file.
